


good memories bad memories

by mabulatious



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Can take it platonically if you want but I don't, Gen, I do that a lot, M/M, whoops i did a hurt/comfort thingy here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabulatious/pseuds/mabulatious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason has said his piece. Enough. Now, he listens to Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	good memories bad memories

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about how, in the Under the Red Hood, everything went according to Jason's plan. Everything. He even partly expected Bruce to not kill the Joker for him. The stage was set by him and the script was improvised but it all came down to a stalemate. Everybody fucking loses. It's a sad ending and I hate it. So, now Bruce makes his own plan. Cause' he'll be damned if he doesn't fix it. (I can't believe they didn't do this in the comics, It feels incomplete because Bruce never got his say. He was led along Jason's pace and that is madness because Jason has issues, obviously. Well, so does Bruce and this isn't actually any better than UTRH but STILL!!)

It’s busy for Batman everywhere. He doesn’t have the witherwals to chase every loose end and tie it up in a neat bowtie. He has to let some cases go, delegate it to others with better resources to handle a particular subject. Tim, outside of Titan work and his socialite life as a Wayne, does research and spy work brilliantly as Red Robin. Dick handles the affairs that are less grittier and more adventurous on this side of Gotham. Barbara is responsible for the smaller works, sometimes team-works with Helena, Kate, Damian, Stephanie, Cassandra; they all have their places and they all do diligently well to take the burdens that have so bound him.

When he gets the alert from Chief Gordon that Jason has broken out of prison, he doesn’t delegate it to Dick like he should. The first Robin is more than capable of it. Bruce just wants…

No, he resolves to face the Red Hood, without unpredictable plans set in motion against him at every turn. Such an intricate plan Jason had built; all to get under Bruce’s skin and it _had_. Now, Batman wants to meet the angry, lost boy on his terms. It’s not that he craves control to deal with Jason, but he’s had enough of being flung in different directions when it comes to that boy. It has to stop: the guilt, the blame, the pointing fingers. It has to stop before his nightmares truly wear his body down.

So, he puts on the cowl, avoids looking back at the case, and drives out on his bat-mobile with intent and decisiveness as his mantra. Jason is playing around with the cops when he gets there. Jumping with nimble feet, toothy grin, hair flipping, hands in graceful arches, angling his back, the weightlessness of his frame as he avoids bullets. There is nothing on his appearance that Batman expected and the image of returned-from-dead Jason Todd gets replaced by an old, picturesque scene of before-he-died Jason Todd.

Both images one and the same and suddenly, the ache is there and his muscles tense as he pushes the thought away, if not the emotion. Jason glances up, noticing his arrival and his animated blue eyes freeze over. He looks away, smile turning down, no longer messing around as Batman gets out of the bat-mobile.

“I’ll take it from here.” He tells the Officer closest to him, without looking in their direction.

The Officer puts his gun down, giving him space to go and says off-handly: “Sticky mess we got here. Can’t even get a hold of him.”

“Yes.” He agrees, and joins the gathering around Jason, noting as the cops one-by-one back off and he’s the only left in the ring.

Jason puts one hand on his hip, blankly staring down at him. “Thought you’d have send golden boy for naughty bad boy.”

Batman takes out two batarangs and throws them across. Jason dodges them perfectly, raising a brow when he’s done. He doesn’t notice the automated bat-net that jumps out from behind him, courtesy of the bat-mobile. The net locks around him, making him squirm to get out and Batman immediately throws two more nets, keeping him tightly closed together. He glares, knowing he can’t get out without having to dislocate pretty much everything. There are almost no loopholes in this trap and he doesn’t ever, had never, appreciated being tied up.

Batman jumps to where he is, on top of a car, and shoves the boy back so he falls into the bat-mobile from the open roof-top window. He follows right after, ignoring the officers who are yelling to him about how the arrest is supposed to be their job and “Where you taking him?” and “I always knew he was a nut.”

Jason doesn’t stop squirming in his seat, not looking around him, just keeping his eyes on the dashboard, glaring furiously. He’s angry. It’s understandable, but Batman has had enough rage in his own veins too.

“What are you doing?” Jason asks when half of the drive goes by and his ignoring the driver out of some childish pettiness gets old fast. He’s wary now, relaxing a little but also, tense in a way. He is aware where they’re heading and he’s not pleased. The urge to flee is painted in the flex of his muscles beneath the binding that he’s working open slowly but surely. Still, by the time he’s done, they’ll already have reached destination.

“We have an appointment.” Batman murmurs.

Jason hunches his shoulders in thought and silent realization before his lips press into thin lines, angry lines. “Stop. You can’t take me there. I’m not your son, I’m not good-Robin-ol’-Chum or whatever. I am a criminal.”

It’s surprising to hear such self-loathing from someone who has pointed fingers since he’s been raised from the dead, and even before then. He’s a spiteful child but he thinks less of himself as much as the people who know him as ‘Jason Todd’.  It’s… surprising. Bruce supposes he should have known but he didn’t. He had been blind with grief, guilt and self-loathing himself and he couldn’t see past it. His own fault.

Not tonight.

“Stop, Bruce! I mean it. I don’t want to go there. Let me go. I’ll go back to prison. I’ll go back anywhere, but there.”

Bruce swallows back the rock in his throat and says, perfectly flat: “Alfred made your favorite.”

Jason thuds his head back against the seat, groaning. “No.”

“Are you afraid?” He asks but already knows the answer.

The boy laughs. “Are you kidding me?” _Of course, I am._ The tremble in his lips says. His eyes are haunted. Bruce turns away. It was a stupid question anyway but he has no other way to converse than to state the glaring obvious.

“What are you afraid of?” He tightens his grip on the steering wheel despite himself.

Jason glances at his fingers tightening and then, releasing. Back and forth. Back and forth. He glances up at Bruce’s face, expression half-hidden because of the mask. He looks out the window, giving up on freeing himself. Resigned to his fate. Good.

“Probably nothing.” He mutters but there’s enough sadness in it that Bruce doesn’t buy it.

-0-

“Master Bruce.” Alfred greets as he gets out of the car. Bruce turns and opens the passenger door, revealing their no-longer-tied-up guest. Jason’s sullen as he stands, rubbing at his wrists and frowning at the linoleum floor. “Master Jason.”

A pause at the greeting before he glances Alfred’s way. This, this was what he was afraid of. The familiarity that came with meeting Alf face-to-face. To visiting a place he once called home. Every single thing being in the same place and the ones that weren’t, just another reminder of things he’d rather forget. He was feeling so angry at Bruce but he was also, relieved. Sometimes, he would think of this place and how everything must be like now and it would hurt to know he might never see inside the batcave again. It was a traitorous part of him but deniability to nostalgia was probably Bruce’s thing.

Jason wasn’t into denial but he was into turning teenage rebellious. Still, he greeted Alfred amicably enough because the old guy hadn’t done much of anything wrong.

It was Bruce Jason had beef with, which was quite the accurate pun, all things considered.

He didn’t look at Bruce for a second. Chatting up Alf like an old friend. Small talk, general questions.

“How are ya, Alf?”, “Been to any vacations lately or still working overtime?”, “Have any new ladies in your life?” to which, they were respectively answered: “It has been well, Master Jason, considering the year we’ve had.”, “Yes, as a matter of fact, just last year I visited my old home-town.”, and “I’m afraid the last affair with one particular lady ended in disaster and so, I have forsaken all thoughts of it and decided monks really do have it easy.”

To the last one, he laughed heartily. “Well, good on you, Alf. Keep breaking those hearts.”

“Quite, Master Jason.” Alfred replied drily. He noted something or well, someone over Jason’s shoulder and was all business as usual again. “I have prepared dinner. When you are done here, please do stay or else, I will be very upset.”

Jason gave a small smile. “I’ll try.” He didn’t want to, but who could say no to Alfred? Not many.

The old guy nodded and turned, but not without giving a warning glance at Bruce’s direction. Jason snorted under his breath. Some things never changed.

When the footsteps vanished up the stairs and remained so for some time, Jason decided to face the magic and turned toward the second bane of his existence, finding himself pleasantly taken-aback by the appearance of Bruce’s bare, naked face. No lighting, no disguise, just him with his hollow, pale complexion and dark-circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for a long while. Jason ignored the twinge of worry in his chest and huffed.

“So? Are you gonna keep staring or tell me, why I’m here?”

Bruce’s eyes flitted down and then, up. “Talking has never been my forte, but I think I have to try.”

Jason crossed his arms and lay his weight on one foot. “If it’s never worked for you before, it’s not gonna work now.”

Bruce nodded. “You’re right but I have to know. I need to know.” He sounded like he needed it too. His whole face transformed with the sound of his voice. Intensity dripped everywhere and focused with raw intent at him. Jason didn’t flinch but he felt like it. _Why was Bruce such a dickhead?_ It was the last thing he needed to be confronted like this, with Bruce laying it all on thick. Wasn’t he done with crying and whining and having his heart broken by this son-of-a-bitch. Couldn’t they just leave it well-enough alone? Why dig through the past, painful and horrible, when they could move on?

But Bruce just had to push. What was wrong with him?

“Need to know what?” He asked bravely. _Don’t flinch. Don’t show anything. Don’t even fucking blink._

“If you ever-“ He stopped and restarted again, omitting one specific word: “If you hate me.”

He hadn’t ever, in the million years, expected that out of Bruce’s mouth. This was motherfucking Batman. Batman didn’t talk about his feelings or his insecurity. What the fuck? Did some asshole turn the world on its axis so it would become opposite day for everyone but poor, unfortunate Jason?

The incredulous eyebrow raising, eyes widening couldn’t be helped. Bruce was being weird. A little emotion had to come into it. “You’re not serious.” He stated. Bruce didn’t make jokes though. Well, he did but this Bruce looked all too somber to be making jokes. “Okay, you’re serious.” He concluded, his hackles unnecessarily rising. His brain froze for a moment before his processing unit started up again and he replied as simply and honestly as he could: “No, I don’t.”

Tread carefully here, Jason. If this gets any weirder, you run. Run before you catch it too. Forget Alfred and his really delicious food upstairs.

Bruce visibly relaxes. Relief palpable on every pore of his skin but the frown is still there so, he’s still Bruce. Not an alien or a clone or possessed by a spirit. Just Bruce.

“Did you ever hate me?”

This is a life-and-death situation, he’s sure of it. Jason twitches where he is. Okay. He can do this. Answer honestly. He feels more in threat than if Bruce actually put a knife on his throat. This is doing nothing good for his resolve to stay under control of his expression cause’ he’s pretty sure he’s showing something.

“Why are you asking this?” he blurted out despite feeling the pressure to answer carefully, honestly. “You know you have some habits that even the closest to you hate about you, but it doesn’t mean—“

“They’re different. You know that.” Bruce interrupted, eyes almost glaring with how fierce they were, how persisting.

“No.” He got out of his larynx with some difficulty. “I don’t, except if you mean by different, that you never cared for me…” He trailed off as he watched the minute change on Bruce’s expression.

Bruce looked like he’d swallowed a sour lemon. He hissed. “Is that what you think?” There’s movement and they’re closer now. Confrontations like this always had a magnetizing pull between them. It was a mystery why or well, it would be if Jason ignored his heart.

Which was beating against his rib-cage fast and ready.

Ready for what?

A fight. Answered his brain.

Right. Was the sarcastic after-thought.

“It’s what I believe, what you proved to me when—“

“Killing doesn’t prove anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” He moved his face closer, looked Bruce dead in the eye. The only thing able to mobilize since they were now, chest-to-chest. Again, a mystery. Really. “I’ll accept that you loved me, Bruce. That you loved me very much, but not enough to sacrifice your ethic code. Not enough to make me _believe_.”

“I am never going to kill. You asking me to kill is the same as asking me to stop being Batman, to stop my mission, because there’s always one thing you hang onto, no matter how much it seems wrong. You hang onto one conviction and if I can’t stick to it than I’m not the man I set out to be.”

“You are crazy!” Jason bursted out, frustration getting the best of him. “You’re crazier than a mad hatter and you think killing a psychopath will change your life so drastically that you won’t be Batman anymore. It’s all excuses! You just don’t have the guts.”

Jason felt as something in Bruce snapped but before he could react, thick hands were holding his arms and slamming him back onto the bat-mobile. Jason’s teeth shuttered together, his head thudding against the bullet-proof metal painfully.

Bruce’s mouth hovered over Jason’s, breathing hot and cold all over him. “You really believe I don’t have the guts to kill if I really wanted to.” Hands gripping his arm tightened imperceptibly and gritted teeth spitted out words with enough violence that even without the cowl, Bruce was Batman. “You’re just saying that for the sake of it. You’re just denying and denying but I’m right here, Jason. Look at me.” The former Robin winced internally, realizing he had crossed his eyes until he could barely see. He was practically cowering. Shit.

He opened his eyes and tried to appear as defiant as he could except Batman was long gone now. Bruce had this warm look to him though he wasn’t smiling and his eyes weren’t softened. He was hardened all over, tense and stern, but still he was warm.

“I’m right here.” murmured Bruce softly and tears suddenly welled up in Jason’s eyes. “And I’m telling you, I love you. I have always loved you, chum.” Hands that had been holding his arms slid to rest over his cheeks, protectively covering them. It was the gentlest touches he’d ever gotten from Bruce, even if he was sans gauntlet, and tears slipped out without his permission. Just flowing and flowing endlessly. “I have failed you, I have tried to erase you, I have kept you in my memorial of regrets but still, I can’t get away from what I want. I get nightmares each day, all in different shapes, telling me the same thing about this one regret and I’ll be damned if I can’t fix it. Even just a little.”

Jason shook his head and looked away. “That’s guilt, Bruce. Not love.”

“Look at me.” Bruce demanded again. A sigh escaped him as Jason refused to follow his demand. Those hands almost cupping him went away, leaving him wanting. “Jason. Guilt and love can co-exist. You know that.”

Jason opened his mouth to proclaim loudly that he didn’t but he’s choked by emotions he doesn’t know how to compartmentalize. He can’t laugh this away. Can’t make jokes.

He’s done. What he set out to do, he failed at. He was a fool to believe he could avoid heavy emotions with Bruce. This man was all he had for a time. He was— he was Jason’s first love. Jason was awash in so much conflicting feelings at once that even Bruce was concerned enough to pull him into his arms. Jason cried into Bruce’s shoulder, punched avidly against his chest, rubbing tears and snot against the non-absorbent Kevlar costume and in the end, clutching at the arms around him with great zeal.

And all the while, Bruce shushed him and stroked his back and hugged him close to his chest. It was nothing like Bruce except yes, of course, it was. He had lost the warmth of family at a young age but like hell, he would let anyone else suffer like him. He’d be a father, a brother, a friend, a hero, just so loss wasn’t something others in this city could feel. Despite these thoughts, he knew he wasn’t just some person. He was loved by this man with his huge presence, his intense eyes, his everything.

He was loved.

-0-

Alfred only gave a pleased hum when Jason and Bruce showed up at the dining hall, both looking a little weary from their postures. Their muscles were tensed but their faces weren’t as pale and twitchy as what he had witnessed downstairs before he left. He concluded that the talk probably took a whole lot out of them and served dinner silently.

He watched as the boy’s eyes remained down, his brain a mile away as he ate mechanically. Much like the days when he trained hard. There was so much happening in between-the-lines that Alfred couldn’t pin-point the exact reason. Just that there was some underlying happiness present in both their stances. Perhaps, it was his wishful thinking but Alfred was content to let them eat in peace without comment. What would happen after was a scenario that went in his head like this:

 Alfred would ask (order) the boy to stay because he looked so tired and down that going anywhere in that state was out of the question. Master Bruce would probably agree and somehow, manage to convince the drained and quite likely, sleepy boy to his former bedroom. There would be small protests but the boy would be unable to act as he wished he could because full of food and fatigue were always precursors to slumbering for the boy and they wouldn’t change no matter how many years it had been.

He predicted and expected this optimistically because Master Jason finally looked like he was home.

 


End file.
